


Recipe for Disaster

by ravenclaw_sass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas at the Burrow, D/Hr Advent 2018, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 07:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16760875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclaw_sass/pseuds/ravenclaw_sass
Summary: For two years Draco has managed to avoid it, but this year Hermione is not taking no for an answer: they are celebrating Christmas at The Burrow.





	Recipe for Disaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CourtingInsanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtingInsanity/gifts), [mcal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcal/gifts).



> A massive thank-you to the lovely people who nominated me for this year's D/Hr Advent! I am so incredibly honoured to be a part of this, and I had so much fun writing this piece.
> 
> Lots of love to CourtingInsanity and mhcalamas for being absolutely golden. This one's for you, girls!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I merely used her characters and world for my own little plot, which I hope you'll like.

* * *

* * *

She really was exceptional.

He wasn’t the sentimental type, but from time to time he allowed himself to take a moment to fully appreciate her and all she had done for him. He couldn’t take her for granted. After all, she had been the first person to forgive him for the terrible choices he had made during the War. If she hadn’t walked up to talk to him after his Wizengamot trial, he likely would have continued to cower away in Malfoy Manor for a few more years, refusing to be confronted with the suffering he had been responsible for.

If money could have achieved it, he would have bought the moon for her if she so desired. Of course, she was modest and always content with what she had. She appreciated the little things in life, and while it had taken a long time, she had taught him to appreciate them too. She would never ask him for anything. She _had_ never asked him for anything.

Until now.

And right now, she asked too much.

Draco could only glare at the witch who stood in front of him. She seemed utterly unimpressed with his angry stare and raised one of her eyebrows ever so slightly before reaching up and tucking one of her escaped curls behind her ear. Pettily enough, it only made him angrier that she so efficiently took away his excuse to reach out himself and revel in the joy of touching her, however innocent and brief.

She allowed the room to remain quiet for a few minutes longer, never breaking off their eye contact. Then she sighed, reaching out to take his hand. The moment she closed her fingers around his own, Draco could no longer be angry with her. He averted his glare and softly squeezed her hand.

“It’s been nearly two years, Draco,” she stated softly. “I have been more than patient with you. You can’t keep this up for another year. This is happening.”

“God dammit, Granger,” he hissed before he could stop himself. “You can’t expect me to go there and play nice all evening. I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

Hermione sighed again and pried her hand from his grip to fold her arms in front of her chest. “They’re my best friends, Draco,” she countered sharply. “I’ve met all of _your_ friends; gave them another chance and played nice with them, and unlike my friends, _yours_ never even had a very good reason for their dislike of me in the first place.”

“It’s different!” he argued hotly.

She scoffed and shook her head. “It really isn’t.”

Draco took a deep breath and held her gaze. “Hermione…” He hesitated briefly. “I just don’t want to ruin Christmas for you…”

“Then don’t,” she murmured before leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his lips. “Just be your charming self and allow for everyone to get used to you being there without getting offended, okay?”

He knew she considered the matter closed when she gave his knee a brief squeeze before she rose from her seat and moved toward her kitchen to make them tea.

It was decided.

They would celebrate Christmas at The Burrow.

* * *

* * *

* * *

On Christmas morning, Hermione insisted that they would Apparate to the Weasley family home early that afternoon so they could help out with the preparations. Undoubtedly knowing that he would fight her on it if given a choice, she hadn’t asked his opinion on the matter and instead just announced it when she kissed him before getting out of bed.

His eyes roamed over her naked back, moodily appreciating her slender silhouette as it was illuminated by the pale light of the morning sun. She was unaware of his stare and moved around her bedroom, opening the top drawer of her dresser and carefully selecting a matching set of underwear before moving into her bathroom.

She had never been the prettiest witch at Hogwarts, but ever since their first date, a little over two years ago, he swore something about her had changed. Though perhaps it was _he_ who had changed. He still wasn’t sure.

He had started to notice the way her big, brown eyes would shine like gold when she smiled at him. How her bushy curls danced around her face when she laughed. He had discovered the small colony of tiny freckles that ran over her cheekbones and nose. And then, after they had gone on a second; third; fourth and fifth date, he had discovered that all the annoying things she had done during their school years, things he had mercilessly made fun of with his friends, suddenly weren’t so annoying anymore.

He had always mocked the way she gnawed on her lower lip when she was lost in concentration; joking that this was her loophole for the no-food rule of the Hogwarts library. But then she had kissed him at the end of their third date, and suddenly he found himself craving every next kiss; every next opportunity to softly bite her lower lip himself. Now, whenever she was deep in thought, he didn’t want to make fun of her. He just wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her.

He had even come to love her mass of hair; come to appreciate every individual string of curls, and all the many different shades of brown he could find.

She had snuck up on him. He didn’t even know when he had first realised that he loved her. Perhaps it had been as early as when they had bumped into each other in that small bookshop just off Diagon Alley, two weeks after his Wizengamot trial. She had invited him for a cup of tea, and they had continued to meet for tea once a week for almost six weeks afterwards. 

Or perhaps it had been when he had asked her on a date for the first time. She had given him a lovely, warm smile before agreeing to go. He still remembered how light that had made him feel, and how beautiful he had thought she looked.

He let out a long sigh and tossed the blankets to the side, swinging his legs out of bed. If he was going to survive today and play nice with a horde of redheads and Harry _sodding_ Potter, he needed another dose of his witch.

Imagining Hermione pressed up against the shower wall, her hands gripping his hair… It almost gave him the strength to face this dreadful, _dreadful_ day.

* * *

* * *

* * *

They landed on grass with a soft _pop_.

“Here we are.”

Draco looked up and stared at the magical dwelling a little further away, surrounded by hilly landscape. It cost him every inch of self-control to keep his face composed. It was the shabbiest looking house he had _ever_ laid eyes upon, appearing as though it was about to collapse. He hoped with all his might that the Weasleys who had charmed it to stay upright were more skilled with magic than Weaselbee had been during their school days.

“Draco… this is really important to me,” Hermione’s soft voice sounded from beside him. He glanced down at her, and the worried look in her eyes took him off guard a little. Apparently his poker face wasn’t as good as it had been before. Or perhaps she just knew him that well by now…

“I understand that you’re not looking forward to this,” she continued, “but please, _please_ be polite.”

He held her gaze for a moment, studying the crease between her brows and the serious gleam in her eyes before slowly exhaling through his nose.

He didn’t want to upset her. Being with her had made it so much easier to convince himself that he was a better person now than he had been during their Hogwarts years. He owed her so much… He knew he needed to do this for her.

Without breaking their eye contact, Draco took a small step toward her and clasped her hand into his own. “I’ll try my hardest,” he promised in a murmur.

The crease between Hermione’s brows smoothed out, and a moment later her eyes shone gold again. He leaned in closer and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead. She tilted her head upwards and sneaked an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. His lips found hers with a practised ease, and after a short snog she took his hand again and pulled him in the direction of the nearby hovel.

As soon as the door opened, Draco felt his entire body stiffen due to the utter chaos that ensued inside. He had always known that his own family and the Weasley family were polar opposites, but the full realisation of what that actually meant had never dawned on him until that moment.

The door didn’t open into a hallway, as he had expected, but right into the kitchen, which was positively packed with people. The colour orange was so overwhelming for a moment that Draco was forced to blink his eyes a few times. Everywhere he looked he saw people, and somehow it made it worse that about one-third were not Weasleys.

Draco inhaled sharply and glanced down at Hermione, who had a grin from ear to ear and seemed on the verge of bursting out in laughter. “You’re about to break my hand,” she told him in a stage-whisper, and he quickly loosened his grip a little.

Not a moment later the short, plump woman that he recognised as Mrs Weasley rushed in their direction with opened arms, and Draco once again squeezed Hermione’s hand in reflex.

“Oh, Hermione!” Mrs Weasley exclaimed. “Dear, it is so wonderful to see you again!”

He was pushed to the side when the older witch threw her arms around his girlfriend, embracing her with such enthusiasm that Draco genuinely worried for the state of Hermione’s spine.

“Hello, Molly! Thank you so much for inviting us!” Hermione replied warmly, though there was a slight squeak in her voice due to the air being pressed from her lungs.

“Of course, dear! You know you are _always_ welcome!” Mrs Weasley slowly released her from her grip, but not before briefly touching Hermione’s face with an affectionate smile. Then she turned toward him, and while her smile stayed in place, Draco immediately noticed how the genuinity in her eyes was extinguished.

“Welcome to The Burrow, Draco,” she greeted him a little stiffly. “We were happy to learn you would finally join this year. Please make yourself at home.”

He tried to clear his throat as subtly as he could. “Thank you so much for the invitation,” he managed. “You have a… _lovely_ home…”

“Thank you,” Mrs Weasley replied, and her smile seemed a little strained. “It’s no Malfoy Manor, I’m sure, but it has everything we need, right under this roof.”

Draco narrowed his eyes and inhaled sharply through his nose. Who did this woman think she was? As if Malfoy Manor was the perfect home since the events that had transpired during the War! He had been forced to live under the same roof as none other than You-Know-Who, who hadn’t exactly been the most pleasant company imaginable.

Sure, the Manor was objectively a beautiful estate. This elaborate pile of rubble that the Weasley family called their home didn’t even fall under the category of ‘houses’ if the definition was up to him. How _dare_ she utter a snarky comment about his home, this… this sorry excuse for a—

A small, warm hand slipped in his own and gave a gentle squeeze, and Draco immediately felt his anger deflate. He took another deep breath, feeling much calmer in an instant. The effect Hermione had on him was simply mind-boggling.

He stood by her as she greeted the rest of the Weasleys and their partners, all of whom, he had to admit, made a real effort to greet him pleasantly. He forced a smile on his face the way he had been taught from a very young age, pretending to be perfectly at ease.

Then, about ten minutes after they had arrived, the moment he had dreaded most presented itself. He followed Hermione into the living room, directly adjacent to the kitchen, and discovered the two people he was least looking forward to be around today.

Harry Potter sat in the leftmost corner of the couch. His redheaded girlfriend sat curled up next to him with a book, her head resting against his shoulder. Potter’s left arm was loosely draped around her, but that seemed to be the full extend of the attention he had for her. His eyes squinted at the chessboard on the coffee table in front of him, watching as Weasley sent one of his knights to demolish Potter’s bishop.

Ron Weasley sat in an armchair to Potter’s right-hand side. He was leaning forward in concentration, his hands loosely clasped together and his elbows resting on top of his knees. There was a pleased grin plastered on his face as he stared at the knight that was just in the process of removing his opponent’s bishop's remains from the board.

“Knock knock!” Hermione happily announced their arrival as she dragged him into the room.

“Who’s there?” Ginny Weasley quipped, glancing up from her book with a playful smile, and Draco frowned, realising he was witness to some sort of stupid inside joke. Either that, or the Weasleys were far more stupid than he had ever given them credit for, and he positively itched to rectify that. 

Hermione snorted and made her way over to her three best friends. “Oh, you know!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Potter let out a playful gasp. “You-Know-Who?” The two Weasleys joined him in his pretend-shock, and Draco mentally counted to ten, forcing himself to quietly tolerate this stupidity.

“Hermione!” Weaselbee exclaimed in mock-disapproval. “That’s no joking matter!”

“Oh, you three are impossible!” She laughed merrily as she stepped forward, engulfing both she-Weasley and Potter in an embrace at the same time. “I’ve missed you!”

“We’ve missed you too, Hermione!” Potter said, a happy smile on his face. “It’s great to see you again.”

Still remaining in the doorway, Draco watched his girlfriend move away from Potter and into the embrace of Weaselbee, which didn’t bother him as much as he had feared beforehand. Shortly after, the foursome turned in his direction, three of them openly studying him with clear reluctance on their faces. He couldn’t fight back a reluctant groan. 

Potter sucked in a breath and uncomfortably cleared his throat. “Hello, Malfoy. Happy Christmas.”

Rather taken by surprise, Draco stared at his childhood nemesis with his eyebrows raised. In the last two years he had done everything he could to avoid being in Harry Potter’s direct vicinity, even though Hermione had pleaded with him to give her friends a chance.

Truth was, it had been comforting to pretend they would still be enemies after all that had happened during the War. To have _The_ _Chosen_ _One_ treat him with civility… He didn’t think he could ever get used to that.

“Did Crookshanks get his tongue?” Weaselbee scoffed aloud, and both Potter and she-Weasley laughed while Hermione visibly tried her best to refrain from joining them.

She made her way back to where he was standing, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Did he?” she whispered at him as she intertwined their fingers, and Draco rolled his eyes at the three onlookers.

“Happy Christmas, Potter; Weasleys,” he said, knowing it sounded very insincere. “Thanks for inviting me to this festive occasion…”

His two least favourite people snorted and resumed their chess game soon after while Ginny Weasley patted the seat next to her, wordlessly inviting them to join. Draco let out a quiet sigh as he followed Hermione to the sitting area.

He hated being in love.

* * *

* * *

* * *

“Anything we can help you with, Molly?”

The plump, red-haired woman briefly turned toward her to give her a fond smile. “Perhaps you would like to get started on the cake? Charlie was on a field trip to Chile last month and he brought the most wonderful Chilean cranberries home with him.”

“Cranberry cake sounds delicious!” Hermione agreed enthusiastically. “Do you have a recipe for me?”

“Of course, dear!” Without looking up from her gravy, Mrs Weasley twitched her wand at the stack of books on top of the overhead cabinets, nonverbally instructing the one with a worn, red cover to fly down and right into Hermione’s hands. “These are my great-grandmother’s recipes, I think the one for the cranberry cake sits near the end.”

Hermione used her own wand to quickly browse through the large book, easily finding the recipe she was looking for. After taking a moment to read it through, she straightened up again and glanced over at him as her lips curled up in a mischievous smile.

“Are you coming?”

Draco raised his eyebrows and gave her a mild glare from his seat at the table. “To do what, exactly?” he asked slowly, careful to keep his tone neutral.

She pointed her wand at the kitchen counter, and all the supplies she needed neatly organised themselves on the surface. “To help me bake this cake, of course,” she answered, the amusement in her voice clearly audible.

He got to his feet and quickly moved in her direction, halting right next to her. “You know I wouldn’t be able to do that even if my life depended on it,” he hissed at her through clenched teeth. “I know nothing of food preparation!”

“No need to be nervous,” she told him calmly, running a hand up and down his arm. “It’s really easy, and I’m going to be right next to you. It’ll be fun, trust me.”

_Trust me._

There was no denying that he did. There was also no denying that he despised manual labour. He came from an obscenely wealthy, high-society family; they didn’t _do_ manual labour.

_Draco… this is really important to me._

The echo of her earlier comment sounded in the back of his mind. _Damn it all_. As much as he hated doing each of the individual things required to make it happen, all he really wanted was for Hermione to be happy. Hell, if she _really_ wanted it, he would probably hold Potty and Weaselbee’s hands, dance around in a circle and sing ‘Kumbaya’.

Man, this witch had him whipped… Sixteen-year-old Draco back at Hogwarts would probably strangle him with his bare hands, and his old school friends back then would have him permanently admitted to the loony-ward in St. Mungo’s.

It didn’t matter; none of it mattered anymore. Not her stupid House back at Hogwarts; not her sodding Muggle lineage; not even the dozens of holier-than-thou people she surrounded herself with.

He loved her, and she made him happy. He hated it and he was utter shit at it, but he would attempt to play nice with a twenty-fold more of these hot-tempered Weasleys for her. If they kept up this rabbit-like procreation rate, that scenario would likely soon become reality…

A hand waved around in front of his face. “Earth to Draco; do you copy, Draco?”

He blinked his eyes as his bushy-haired girlfriend returned into focus. She was openly displaying her amusement. Her mouth was curved in a lovely smile and her eyes sparkled with mirth, and after noticing they were now alone in the kitchen, Draco couldn’t resist the urge to bow down and kiss the top of her head. 

“Now that you have resurfaced, how about you get started on the cake batter?” Hermione proposed. She moved around him and pushed a few of the ingredients in his direction, rearranging them in a line. “Just add these to the bowl one by one and mix them together until it’s a smooth batter without lumps.” She pointed at a strange-looking kitchen utensil and told him he could use the hand whisk mixer.

“Mix them… by hand?” he muttered reluctantly, eyeing the utensil with some suspicion. “Sounds… _fun_ …”

“Broaden your mind!” a different voice suddenly wailed dramatically, sounding uncannily like their old Divination teacher. Hermione began to laugh while Ginny Weasley reached around him to grab the bottle of red wine from the counter. She winked at him and disappeared as swiftly as she had appeared, leaving behind a chuckling Hermione.

“She’s right, though,” she told him over her shoulder, smiling. After that she busied herself with preheating the oven and magically thawing the cranberries while Draco stared at the ingredients she had lined up for him. It was time to brave the unknown.

He had always been rather good at Potions... _Surely_ baking a cake was a similar process. Besides, if a three-and-a-half-year-old Teddy Lupin could bake edible cookies with minimal help from his grandmother and without burning down the house, how difficult could it really be?

Thirty minutes later he had managed to cover not only himself, but Hermione with flour as well, and they had gained quite the number of spectators. He should be in a rotten mood, but the sheer silliness of it all had cheered him up immensely. Between his strict upbringing, his involuntary role during the War and the heavy burden of guilt he had carried with him since, Draco realised he had forgotten what it was like to have stupid, mindless fun.

Baking cakes was not something he had ever expected to do, let alone bake a cake the Muggle way. His parents wouldn’t know where to start reprimanding him if they heard about his day, but somehow Draco didn’t care as much as he would have two years ago.

He carefully wiped some flour from Hermione’s face and bowed down to kiss her. He didn’t care about the horde of Weasleys around them; he didn’t even hear their wolf-whistles and the exaggerated gag-sounds some of them made. He had just baked a cake with the witch he loved. He had no idea in what state it would leave the oven; if it would even be edible, but right now he didn’t care. He had not burned down the hovel — even though he was of the opinion that it would only be an improvement — and that alone was a success. 

Slowly pulling back from the kiss, Draco couldn’t fight back a pleased smirk when he saw that Hermione still had her eyes closed and a happy smile on her lips. He leaned in and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I think I would make a marvellous baker,” he said in a mock-arrogant tone.

She opened her eyes and her smile turned into a broad grin. “I think so too,” she agreed, chuckling. “I’m glad you had fun.”

“I did,” he told her softly and honestly, pulling her into an embrace. “From now on, cranberry cake is my favourite dessert.”

The fact that she tried to hug him even closer told him everything he needed to know, and Draco pressed another kiss on the top of her head.

“I love you too.”

* * *

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> My prompt was ‘cranberries’.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Happy holidays to you all, and may 2019 be your year. <3


End file.
